I had a patient last week with a tattoo on her arm;  it read "Love is the anchor of the soul".  I believe that to be true but I think that I must first love myself and trust myself.  I grew up in a family in which I was told "Don't feel that way.  Don't say that."  What was real and what was presented as real didn't always match.  I found it very confusing.  I still find it very confusing.  If I don't like someone, I don't like them.  I don't pretend to like them sometimes and then talk about them behind their back.  I get confused when people do this and yet I know this is how the world works.

Mostly what I learned from my family was to not trust myself.  God, I hope my children trust themselves, although how they might have learned that would be a mystery as I certainly couldn't have taught them that.  Living with my ex-husband also taught me to not trust myself.  I was the "unstable one" in our relationship, or so I was told.  Except I wasn't.  My boss at work told me that my "negativity was bringing the whole department down" and I believed him.  Except when I look around it's untrue.  I have asked co-workers, is this true?  Am I bringing the department down and their answer is always no.  More craziness.  More moments to distrust myself.

So when I feel a knot in my stomach, a pounding in my chest, I try to ignore it, make excuses.  It's me. 

Along with this learning to trust myself, I'm learning how to accept and love myself as I am.  I don't have to be perfect to be loved.  I am loving and compassionate.  I am also passionate and when I feel emotions strongly, I cry.  I cry a lot.  When I'm upset, I cook or bake.  When I'm bored I'll bake.  I like to keep busy and I like to walk outside so that I can hear the trees.  I love dogs but I don't want to live with one because I don't want the responsibility anymore. I like my house clean and tidy.  I like my workplace clean and tidy too.  I am forgetful and sometimes I don't pay attention.  I like to exercise and enjoy the feeling of sore muscles the next day.  Sometimes I get lost in the past or in the future and forget today.  I am very organized.  I believe the best of people.  I am easily swayed.  I am all these things and more and I don't have to change a damn thing to love myself. 

The big guy and I went to a lecture yesterday morning given by Gabor Maté about Compassion and Social Inclusion.   "Dr. Maté has extensive experience working with patients in Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside and has championed a compassionate approach to supporting vulnerable populations . Dr. Maté will speak about compassion, addiction and inclusion."

There is a video making it's way around the internet right now about a homeless man, Ryan Arcand, in Edmonton who plays the piano. Dr. Maté started off talking about Ryan and the fact that people are surprised that this man not only plays the piano beautifully but that he also composes his own music.  This man, Ryan, is creative and produces works of art.  Then he went on to say that Ryan is no different than any one of us in the audience.  He has a soul.  He has dreams.  He has fears.  He is a human.  There is no difference between us except the things that we put there, between us.  Things like he is homeless.  He is an addict.  But those things are not him anymore than my fears are me.

Dr. Maté believes that addiction comes from some kind of childhood trauma, that it is an attempt to ease fears, to soothe, to feel better.  He pointed out that none of these things are bad things.  We all want to stop our pain, to feel better, to feel included, but the problem with addictions is what happens afterwards, the negative things that come after that initial feeling better. And we all do it.  We all want to feel better, we all want to stop the pain, ease the fears, feel a part of something.

Which is where compassion comes in, compassion not only for others, but for ourselves.  In fact the compassion that we need to feel for others can only start with ourselves for if we cannot be kind and compassionate with ourselves, how can we give that to others?  We also need to understand that we are all the same, there is no distance between us.

The talk he gave meandered through politics, modern culture versus tribal culture, addictions, racism, sexism, trauma, disease and most importantly, cultivation of compassion.  I cried more than once and he made me think.  I didn't agree with everything he had to say but I what I took away from his talk was the importance and need for compassion in our world. 

Two weeks ago I listened to a woman on the CBC radio show Tapestry discuss compassion and self kindness.  I didn't know what Gabor Maté's talk was about when I signed up to attend his lecture but as luck would have it, or perhaps the universe, the two went nicely together. 

I am a slow learner but it would seem that I about to learn how to become compassionate with myself and others.  I didn't learn kindness as a child but I am hopeful that I can learn to be gentle and kind with myself, hopeful that my children can learn as well because I was not able to teach them what was not taught to me.  And so it goes. 

It's Thanksgiving this weekend.  My son and his girlfriend will be over for supper on Sunday.  I wanted to go hiking with them this weekend in the mountains but they're both too busy with school.   We'll see Katie on Monday;  if the weather's still nice, we'll have a wiener roast down by the river and bring the dog.

We have a dog living with us, Annie.  She's here for a trial.  She's a very sweet, loving, well behaved beagle but I'm still not sure I want a dog in an apartment which is something I should have thought about for longer before taking her in.  I do like to delude myself though.  When I want something I tend to gloss over reality and tell myself that it will be fine.  We'll see.

The big guy and I spent last weekend recharging our batteries in Jasper.  The mountains were wonderful and worked their magic. 

I'm still finding work difficult.  Another friend of mine showed up yesterday.  She has ovarian cancer and the surgeon couldn't remove all of the cancer.  She's a year younger than me.  There have just been so many sad stories lately.  There is also so much love where I work.  I see men caring for their wives, wives caring for their husbands, friends supporting and loving their friends, parents coming in with their middle aged children who are now dying before the parents.  It's a difficult place to work but a wonderful place as well.  I think it's all just to close right now with my girlfriend dying of cancer as well. 

I called my girlfriend this past week.  I'm reluctant to go over their because I don't want to interfere with the time she has with her family.  She asked me how I was and I told her that I was feeling depressed.  When she asked why I told her I was sad because she was dying and she said, "Oh Deb, I'm sorry." I pointed out to her that she was the one with the cancer.  She told me how much food people have been bringing over.  Nobody knows what to do, myself included, so we make food.  She said that one week they had six batches of homemade cinnamon buns.  I couldn't stop laughing.  Her girls are sick of lasagna, another staple apparently.  She has all her siblings coming this weekend to see her and I told her to make sure that she lets them take of her. 

I'm reading a book right now called "For Joshua" by Richard Wagamese.  He is an alcoholic, estranged from his sons due to his alcoholism.  It's a book for his son but it's a book about living as an alcoholic as well.  I have a hard time with alcoholics, they cause so much collateral damage to those living around them but this book helps me to understand the reasons that he drank.  We all have our addictions. 

Things I'm thankful for this Thanksgiving weekend.

A long weekend.
A beautiful, warm, sunny day.
A dog to walk with.
My children.
The big guy.
My friends.
My bed, very soon.

What are you thankful for today?

I survived my first overseas trip by myself.  In fact I not only survived, I enjoyed myself which was a pleasant surprise.  I visited my Auntie Fran, who is now as frail as my mum, and we had lots of time to visit and reminisce.   I survived both her cooking and her driving.  I spent time in one of my favorite towns, Rye, pictured above.

We made it to the Fire Hills and I learned how prickly gorse is. 

I found so many heart shaped stones on the beach I had to start taking photos of them as I couldn't have fit them all in my luggage.  It's amazing what you find when you take the time to pay attention.

I spent a lot of time on Winchelsea Beach, wandering, looking at stones and thinking about life and death.

More time spent in Rye.

And Winchelsea Beach again, looking toward the Fire Hills.  It was a good trip for me, a boost to my self confidence and a chance to miss and appreciate the big guy. 

This is one of my favorite photos.  My mother has the straw hat on, my Auntie Fran is in the middle and my aunt's best friend Ann has the blue hat on.  I'm leaving tomorrow evening to visit my aunt in England.  I miss mum and so does Auntie Fran.  My visit will be a chance for both of us to remember mum. 

I just finished reading a very good book, "Drinking: A Love Story" by Caroline Knapp.  It's a book about alcoholism, about women, about families.  It's a memoir written by Caroline Knapp, an alcoholic for twenty years. 

I've known alcoholics my whole life.  I saw what my grandmother did to my father, even though I never met my grandmother.  My sister's husband periodically blew through our family like a tornado, leaving destruction in his wake.  My son's father.  My daughters' father.  My partner.  I've cared for alcoholics going through withdrawal, shaking and swearing as their bodies dried out.  I've cared for alcoholics who had destroyed their livers and were now dying slowly, turning yellow and becoming confused, or quickly, bleeding out of their mouths and their rectums.  I've cared for alcoholics who had destroyed their minds and could no longer feed themselves or toilet themselves.  But I've never really understood why they do what they do.  Until now.

Caroline helped me to understand what it's like living as an alcoholic.  Why she did what she did.  How she lived like she did.  Three quarters of the way through the book I wanted to know more about her so I googled her name.  Sadly I found out she had died in 2002 of lung cancer.  I felt like I had lost a friend.

Here's an excerpt from her book.

"Al-Anon...estimates that every alcoholic's drinking affects at least four other people.  We worry parents, lovers, co-workers, anyone close who crosses our paths.  We lose our tempers with them, we blame them for our troubles, we push them away.  We never quite let them in, let them know us too well, because we're afraid that if they got too close they'd be appalled at what they'd find.  Accordingly, a great deal of the active alcoholic's energy is spent constructing facades, an effort to present to others a front that looks okay, that seems lovable and worthy and intact.  Inside versus outside; version A, version B.  The double life grows more sophisticated and more deeply entrenched.
Mostly, we lie.  That's a statement of fact, not a judgment.  Alcoholics lie about big things, and we lie about small things, and we lie to other people and (above all) we lie to ourselves."

What got me the most was her assertion that alcoholism was about not feeling.  She drank to anesthetize herself, to stop feeling anything.  I can understand the desire to not feel but couldn't, wouldn't go there because to not feel pain or sadness or fear means to also not feel joy or love or compassion.  You can't have one without other.  It was a wonderful, sad and profound read. 


 

i·ro·ny¹

ˈīrənē,ˈiərnē/

noun

a literary technique, originally used in Greek tragedy, by which the full significance of a character's words or actions are clear to the audience or reader although unknown to the character.

I'm reading a book right now, recommended to me by my counselor, "Codependent No More" by Melody Beattie.  On the fly leaf it says, "How to stop controlling others and start caring for yourself." and that's pretty much what it's about.  The irony is, as I read this book I start thinking about other people whom I should give a copy of this book to.  I mutter fuck to myself and then continue on reading about how to help myself.

Excerpts from the book.

     I saw people who were hostile;  they had felt so much hurt that hostility was their only defense against being crushed again.  They were that angry because anyone who had tolerated what they had would be that angry.

     They were controlling because everything around and inside them was out of control.  Always, the dam of their lives and the lives of those around them threatened to burst and spew harmful consequences on everyone.  And nobody but them seemed to notice or care.

     I saw people who manipulated because manipulation appeared to be the only way to get anything done.  I worked with people who were indirect because the systems they lived in seemed incapable of
tolerating honesty.

     I worked with people who thought they were going crazy because they had believed so many lies they didn't know what reality was.

All of what she writes strikes a chord with me and I keep thinking she must have lived with me for pretty much my whole life.  Apparently I'm not crazy.